


the makings of greatness

by takemetofantasyland



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, a little bit of back story for Dmitry, as a treat, lots of soft dimya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takemetofantasyland/pseuds/takemetofantasyland
Summary: Dmitry carries the burden of bearing a face he never truly knew. Anya reminds him it's not the past that defines them, but the present opportunity to define who they are. Post-Canon.
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	the makings of greatness

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea of Dmitry and his connection to his mother for awhile now. As per usual, exploring some backstory for Dmitry and some introspection on Dmitry's part.

Dmitry stood in front of the mirror on the dressing table. He stared back at his reflection, grimacing. 

Glaring back at him was a face he never knew. A face that at times was only a blur in his memory, but followed him wherever he went. 

He had decided bearing resemblance to his absent mother was a curse. A deep reminder that the past was never truly gone. 

He faked a smile and a dimple popped into his cheek. The familiar faces in the market had always said she had one just like it, and that there was no mistake his mess of brown hair was hers too. 

Yes, Anya may not remember her past, but at least she had the bliss of ignorance. She struggled to remember, while he struggled to forget. 

His smile faded and he could see the exhaustion in his face as his cheeks dropped. He stared back at himself, plain and tall, and carrying his past on his shoulders. 

Dmitry had been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn’t heard a pair of small footsteps enter the room. He felt a small pair of hands snake around his waist and a cheek press against his back. He gasped and turned over his shoulder to look behind him. 

Anya was pressed so close to his back he could barely see her in his line of vision, but he could feel the definitive squeeze of her arms around his waist. He craned his neck to try to look at her and found it impossible. 

“What are you doing, Dima?” She asked quietly. Her voice was muffled where her lips met his back. 

He smiled as he gently clasped his hands over where hers wrapped around his waist and sighed, “Nothing.”

Anya rounded him and pulled back to take a look at him. “Something is heavy on your heart,” she whispered in their native tongue. 

Dmitry softened and cast his eyes away as he shook his head. 

She wouldn’t believe him for a second. He was good at burying the things that troubled him, but she always better at finding them. 

Anya reached up and cupped his cheek, tracing her thumb over the spot in his cheek where a dimple hollowed when he smiled. 

“I’m fine,” he breathed and pressed his cheek into her palm. 

Dmitry gazed past Anya and into the mirror. If his mother knew him, would she be proud of him? Would she be proud of who he had become? 

His shoulders dropped with a sigh nearly as heavy as the weight on his heart. 

He didn’t know why he let the opinion of a nonexistent stranger have any real estate in his mind. 

Anya reached up and turned his chin back to her. “Something is troubling you, Dima,” she replied. 

She would be the one person who could understand missing someone you didn’t know. 

He exhaled slowly, melting into her touch.

The room was dark and silent. It was as if time had stopped itself, and he was free to whisper his deepest secrets. 

Anya looked up at him with brilliant blue eyes that could persuade him to do anything. 

“Sometimes when I look at my reflection all I see my mother,” he confessed. “She was gone before most of what I can remember, but I used to hear all the time I have her smile or the same mischief in my brow. It’s hard not to be upset that she left. It’s hard not knowing what could have been.”

He knew it was selfish of him to complain about his complicated past with his mother, when Anya barely remembered her own. It could be worse for him—Anya was a present reminder of that. 

Anya’s brow softened and she stroked his cheek. 

“I don’t know how it’s possible to hate her, but still miss her,” his voice was barely a whisper. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes. 

Anya held his cheek, and her brow softened, “Oh, Dima, I’m so sorry.”

She pursed her lips as she stroked his cheek with her thumb. 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he shook his head, holding back tears. He pulled away from her grip. “It’s me who hates looking at my face. It’s a portrait of betrayal.”

“Don’t say that,” Anya replied and she retracted her hands to her chest. She took several steps across the room and stood before him. 

He looked down at her. Her brow was knit with concentration as if she searched to comfort a trauma she did not know how to heal for herself. So instead she took his hand and led him to bed. 

He let her lead him and held her hand as she sat on the bed they shared. “You have to know what it feels like to have the face of someone you’ve never known?”

“I do,” Anya said softly. “All the time I hear I have my father’s eyes, but my mother’s jawline. ‘She’s definitely got Nicky in her, but her face is all Alexandra,’” Anya quipped the words she had heard by anyone trying to find a resemblance she wasn’t even sure was there. “But I’ve never been able to see it.”

She held his gaze, “And I’ve never seen your mother’s face in you.”

“That’s impossible,” Dmitry replied quickly. He had grown so used to the older ladies in the marketplace looking at him like he was only a memory of his mother. 

“I never knew your mother,” Anya replied firmly. “It would be impossible for me to know you had your mother’s face.”

She pulled him into bed with her, and he cozied down beside her. 

His exhaustion was starting to win over and he buried his face into his pillow. 

Anya smiled and brushed his messy hair out of his eyes. He was still and she could tell he wasn’t in the mood to be playful or talk. 

“Dima, look at me,” Anya said softly as her finger traced his jaw. 

He tilted his head up to catch her gaze. 

For a moment she gently caressed his face, sweeping stray hair back and rounding his cheek, and then she pressed her lips to his. 

He kissed her desperately, like he was trying to hold onto something that was slipping away. His hands feverishly held her jaw to keep her with him. 

She pulled away and pressed a kiss to his brow. He softened, rolling over onto his back so she could reach him. 

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” She asked. 

He was almost afraid to answer. There were so many things he could be. So much of his past life that could be a dark cloud on who he was now. 

He shook his head as Anya held his cheek. 

“I see the makings of greatness,” Anya replied. 

His lip turned into a smile and he had to laugh. 

Anya’s brow knit, knowing he didn’t believe her, and she hiked her nightgown up to her thighs to pull her leg over his waist and straddle him. 

He rounded his hand around her bottom and to her hip to steady her. 

“I do, Dima,” she said quietly. 

She grasped his jaw and kissed him again, for good measure. Her fingers traced the details of his face. 

They sat together in a moment of raw intimacy. Dmitry knew his words could only go so far with her. She could look right through him if she felt it was pertinent. Sometimes she knew him better than he knew himself. 

Although Anya was well aware of this, she would indulge him in affirmation.

“I see the strong jawline of a brave man, who risked everything he had to get out of Russia,” Anya breathed as she ran her fingertips over his jaw. “Even when he was scared.”

She felt his breath hitch and she smiled. 

He reached up and held his hand over hers as she held his cheek. 

“I see the soft, brown hair of a man who put up a tough front, but melted easily when he spoke of the city he loved,” Anya smiled as she ran her fingers through his hair and pushed it back, out of his eyes. 

His face softened as he looked at her. Her touch was so delicate yet decisive. 

Anya smiled as she looked down at him, her soft waves falling into her face. 

He couldn’t help but reach up and tuck a stray piece behind her ear. 

“I see a nose with the ancestry of all of those who came before him, but despite them he was so stubborn he wanted to write his own legacy,” Anya said softly as she pressed a kiss to the bridge of his nose and he scrunched it. 

She paused for just a moment. She loved how when she kissed him she could feel his nose gently brush against her cheek. 

“And he’s doing well so far,” she whispered in his ear. 

He turned his head to meet her lips and she pulled back. 

There was a beat between them and Anya quietly fixed the skirt of her nightdress. 

He reached a hand up to play with her fingers while she spoke softly to him. 

“I see a man who chose to fight for me, when he knew I could fight for myself.”

He closed his eyes to hide how soft he had grown for her. He had come to realize though their experiences were different, they were very much the same. And it broke his heart to know she had to take the worst of it alone. 

He felt Anya’s breath as she neared him and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. 

She kissed the dimple in his cheek and felt him exhale beneath her. Her fingers brushed against his jawline and she pressed her lips to his. 

He smiled against her lips as he felt her legs tighten on his hips. She had a fiery spirit, but she loved with every inch of her soul. 

Anya exhaled as she pulled away. 

“I happen to love your face just the way it is,” Anya said softly as she caressed his cheek. “Because I have the privilege of only knowing Dmitry.”

He turned away from her and bit his lip and held back his tears. 

Anya traced his jaw and pulled his focus back to her. 

“Let the past be the past, Dima,” Anya said softly. “It’s the only way I can sleep at night.”

He relaxed beneath her and wrapped his arm around her waist. His fingers gently stroked the small of her back. 

She smiled, and he was reminded that she was the reason why he had come so far. And she challenged him and changed his perspective and she reminded him to live rather than just survive. 

His perception began to shift where he no longer had his mother’s face, but a face Anya loved. And what made it special to her should make it special to him, too. 

He gripped her tightly as he made a swift move to turn her on her back, with a smirk that always made her roll her eyes. 

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” He asked devilishly as he leaned over her. 

Anya pushed him back with her foot, “now you’re just being arrogant!”

He gently pushed her foot away, and pressed a kiss to her lips. 

Her lips parted as he pulled away, not ready for him to give in to his exhaustion just yet. 

“You remind me how grateful I am to be loved,” he whispered in her ear. 

Anya smiled as chills prickled down her spine. She was ignited by him, and never wanted him to feel the burden of abandonment again. 

She pulled him down into a kiss to reassure him of her love. 

Her words had done enough, she could see the spark return to his dark eyes. 

He rolled off her and collapsed into the bed beside her with a satisfied grin. 

Anya’s fingers traced his cheek as he ran his fingers through her hair. 

How lucky he was to be loved by a girl who could have anything in the world that she wanted and she chose to look at him like he hung the moon and the stars. 


End file.
